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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046854">cut your teeth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecreature/pseuds/littlecreature'>littlecreature</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunger Games Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:15:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecreature/pseuds/littlecreature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>fulvia doesn’t know the snow family, despite her proximity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cut your teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a small cut into the cardew’s.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When she arrives in Thirteen, it takes around a week for Coin to request her presence. She nearly misses it — she’s not used to having her schedule printed on her arm, and she expects it to be the same, daily. </p>
<p>It’s a Wednesday, when she notices it —— 𝟷𝟶.𝟶𝟶 𝙰𝙼 : 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳. So she leaves Plutarch alone, whispering excuses of a migraine (she’s prone to them, you know) and figures her way up to the command centre. It’s just her and Coin and Boggs shuts the door behind as he leaves. She smiles and take a seat when offered. Coin returns with something of a grimace. </p>
<p>There’s silence and Fulvia wonders if she should speak up, maybe thank the grey-haired woman across from her for allowing her safe passage into Thirteen, allowing her to continue working. She supposed that was really down to Plutarch. Sweet man. She nearly opens her mouth to offer said thanks but Coin is quicker; deft fingers closing over the file held before her. </p>
<p>“Cardew?” The older woman asks, leaving her surname a hanging question. A curiosity. “Fulvia Cardew - rebel. Should it not be Fulvia Cardew, minister for finance?” Fulvia expects her to lean forward, but she doesn’t. </p>
<p>“I never liked numbers.” She tries to lighten the mood; but as Cressida had pointed out years ago in a dormitory bathroom, injecting humour and light into desperate situations has never been her strong suit. “Yes.” </p>
<p>“But you never followed in your family’s tradition?” </p>
<p>“My father wanted to be a peacekeeper.” </p>
<p>Her father had never been a peacekeeper - he had been a banker instead, much like her grandmother had been. He had told her that story one night. They had been in the lounge, watching a recap of the games. She had been thirteen and he had put a bet on for her. A wildcard from District Nine. He had wanted to be a peacekeeper when he was a little boy, but his sister’s had bullied it out of him. Terrorised him, in fact. He always thought Livia would have protected him. Out of all his sister’s, she’d had a soft spot for him. Not this time. They’d all gone after him, laughing cruelly and mocking his weak, burdened by childhood physique. His sisters. Her aunts. </p>
<p>Marilla. Sabina. Livia. </p>
<p>The wildcard from District Nine ended up being slaughtered by the girl from One. She had won that year. Fulvia had felt bad about it. Anger at how the girl that sliced through him, mutilated him. Made him talk like a puppet before Claudius Templesmith had cut in, hurriedly finishing up that years games. She felt bad for the girl now. She had seen her ageing face at parties, begging for pills and drinks and the all important morphling. She imagines that victor would become a casualty in the battles to come. Maybe she would welcome it. </p>
<p>She understands that Coin wants to ask her about her eldest aunt. Livia Cardew. Livia Snow. </p>
<p>“I didn’t really know her. Him.” She answers before Coin can even ask - it’s clear she wants information. Anything that they can use against him the way he’s probably going to use people that she knows and loves. Maybe not her specifically - maybe not Plutarch, but they all know Snow isn’t above killing children, so holding Capitol citizens hostage when everything they are working for is eventually blown into the open isn’t a hard reach. Coin wants the advantage Fulvia can’t give her. But it’s true. She didn’t know the Snow family despite her proximity. Her father and her aunt stopped talking long before she was born, she knew. Maybe it was over the peacekeeper academy, maybe that’s just how it was when you married the president of the country. </p>
<p>“No family secrets?” Coin’s left eyebrow is raised, the skin above it twitching. Maybe she’s angry. Maybe just frustrated. Fulvia shakes her head. She thinks about the only time she was in the president’s mansion. She had been ten and the memory is awfully hazy but she remembers the splendour of it all. She was dressed in her finest little silk dress, gold and patterned with flowers in various states of bloom. It had been her cousin’s birthday. His eighteenth. Not the oldest boy — the middle one. </p>
<p>It had been a splendid affair, no expense spared. But even at a mere ten years old, she could tell there had been something poisoning the air. If she really thinks — she can remember the way her father gripped his crystalline glass a little too tight yet without fear of breaking it. The way her aunt and uncle drew away from each other once the cameras had passed on by. Caelia was the youngest Snow child, only two years older than Fulvia herself. They had been sat together at lunch and to watch Leos open his presents but Caelia proved to be a less than pleasant playmate; kicking her under the table and pinching her as she passed. The way Leos had cut his finger open on a piece of wrapping paper and her aunt made a fuss - a fuss that would not be spared for her other two children. Fulvia had always been to perceptive for her own good and yet she had forgotten that memory. </p>
<p>It had barely been a year later that there was a public execution in the square. Livia and Caelia had been found dead, poison dried on lips once examined deeply enough. It’s kept under wraps from the district’s, of course. But within the city circle, there’s prompt investigation. It’s blamed on some Avoxes and they’re quickly dispersed of. She’s eleven and feels sick to her stomach as she walks to school by herself and passes by the gallows. It’s primitive, she feels and something deep inside of her clenches in shame. </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for her to get radicalised. Cressida. Messalla. Plutarch. Whispers of rebellion as she sits in a comms lecture, gently urging Cressida to come to the tattoo parlour on Scholar’s Row after class with her. Vines. Gold flowers. </p>
<p>She looks at Coin and offers a resounding ‘no’. </p>
<p>“You may go.” </p>
<p>She’s never been so quick to move out of a chair. The exit seems to far away, but when she reaches it and it slides open of its own accord, she looks back. Coin looks up. </p>
<p>“I think his granddaughter is named after his late daughter.” </p>
<p>She can’t be sure. She doesn’t know the family.</p>
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